


Traffic Violation

by eledhwenlin



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: AU, M/M, pwp - Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-08
Updated: 2010-02-08
Packaged: 2017-10-14 07:22:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/146812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eledhwenlin/pseuds/eledhwenlin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gerard can't pay his speeding ticket. Porn ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Traffic Violation

**Author's Note:**

> Back in early December Solarcat had a bad day. I offered to write something to cheer her up and this is what became of it. The prompt, iirc, came from the bandom kink meme and goes along the lines of this (damn you, Twitter, for having the most useless search interface EVER; I can't find the tweet for the life of me):
> 
>  _cop!Frank stops Gerard for speeding/whatever, and to not get a ticket, Gerard offers to blow Frank._
> 
> This fic? Is actually sketchier than that summary. I admit shamelessly that it is porn with no other intention than to make you feel good. It is also the first thing I've written in 18 months, so I also admit to being inappropriately proud of it. (Although, IMHO, after a dryspell of 18 months, I think it's okay to feel giddy for every word I manage to write down.)
> 
> I'm sorry, hon, that it took me so long to finally finish this up, but I hope you'll enjoy it nevertheless. ♥
> 
> Betaed by the delightful Sansets who made this a lot better (and sure it included a lot less italic than the first draft). ILU, hon. ♥
> 
> All remaining mistakes are my own.

The problem is, Frank thinks, that he and authority don't work so well together. He just can't be quiet or not go through with whatever seemed like a good idea at the time. Sometimes, he ponders, the fact that he knows before pulling such a stunt that it is a pretty fucking bad idea (but would be fun) should tip him off. Maybe one day he will learn. Or maybe one day he will quit the force, give the establishment the one fingered salute and get the hell out of dodge. One of these options seems vastly more likely than the other.

Sighing, Franks slumps even further into the car seat. It's dark outside and the street he's supposed to watch is empty--and has been since he came. Which figures, since the whole point of Frank watching this road is punishing him for speaking up against his lieutenant (again) in front of everyone (not new, either). His lieu's question of why such a punk ass like him ever wanted to be a cop is still ringing in his ears. Mostly because he doesn't have an answer. But when he dropped out of college, his mother gave him a stern talking to ( _music doesn't make for a living, you can live while being poor when you're young, but when you grow old, you want to have **something** , oh Frankie, what am I going to do with you?_). It's not even that Frank doesn't like being a cop, it's actually kinda cool, but well. He spent his formative years lobbying against the establishment, mouthing off against teachers, figures of authority, and these habits die hard.

A glance at the watch tells him that he's been out here for only two hours and he's already bored out of his mind. This street has been closed off for months for reconstruction, and people have learned other routes, so chances are nobody is going to come through all night. And even then he might not actually get to do anything.

Frank's contemplating just pulling over whoever comes through just to mess with them and have something to do, even if it's only checking a license and some plates, as somebody goes past him--driving much faster than the speed limit. Frank can't help it, he beams and puts his car in motion.

There's no long chase, Frank notes sadly, as the driver almost instantly pulls over when Frank appears behind him with his lights flashing and sirens blazing. It's kind of disappointing.

So Frank takes his time running the plates (not stolen, owner's one Gerard A. Way, born April 9, 1977, no rap sheet, but hey! Strike! A suspended license!) and strolling up to the car. He casually shines his light into the window and leans against the car (he practised that move). Mr Gerard A. Way dutifully opened the window and is already holding his papers in his hands. He almost pushes them at Frank before he can even ask for them. Up and close Way does not really like like the picture on his license. For one, the black hair is gone, has been replaced by short, almost-white blond hair. The man in the picture seems pudgy and the one right in front of him is made of angles. If it weren't for his eyes, Frank would not believe that they're the same guy--but the eyes are the same, dark and intense.

"Sir, do you know why I pulled you over?"

"Uhm, no?" Frank is amused. Nobody's actually that bad at lying. The guilt is all written about Way's face, the way he grips the wheel and Frank can practically see him sending prayer after prayer to the heavens above. It's this more than anything else that makes Frank decide to have some fun tonight.

"Sir, would you please exit the car?"

Frank didn't think it was possible, but Way looks even guiltier outside the car. His license claims him to be 5'9 which makes him tower a bit above Frank, but there's no mistaking who's on top here. Frank can tell his grin is going towards manic as Way's eyes widen a bit. It makes Frank downright giddy because, really, this is probably as much fun as he's going to have tonight. He knows that he should call it in, but for a moment he lets the cop voice in his head subside and the punk voice win.

"Did you know that you have seven unpaid speeding tickets?" He probably said that way too cheerfully, but Way starts waving his hands around and, well, starts babbling.

"These were, like, accidents and, okay, they may have accumulated a bit, but I've had some emergencies recently and there just wasn't time to go and pay them, because, you see, Mikey, he's not okay right now, and I have to go and take care of him and that's where I was going, because he just called and I promise to pay them all at once tomorrow, but I really have to go now."

He looks at Frank as if Frank hasn't heard the story about emergencies a thousands times in his admittedly short career. "So, lemme guess, you're just really busy at work, Mikey is deathly ill and, to top it off, your hamster died?"

Frank makes an effort to say that in his most _you're so full of shit_ voice, but Way's face just lights up and he starts nodding. "Well, yes, that's exactly it."

There's not really much Frank can reply to that, except what he's learned he has to do.

"You know I can't just let you leave? Your license is suspended. I ought to arrest you on the spot."

Apparently Way does not believe in middle-grounds, because, boy, as happy as he seemed to be when he believed Frank was actually buying his shitty story, he just now seems as dejected.

Then Way has an idea. Frank wonders whether he should worry about the fact that he knows the exact moment when Way gets his probable hare-brained idea, but he's really more occupied whether that's perhaps the face Frank himself makes when he's getting one of his grand ideas (which then get him stuck on a lonely road in the middle of nowhere talking to strangers who are taller and probably stronger than he is).

"Is there no other way we can resolve this?" Frank has opinions about corruption (see: punk) and about bribes (this is New Jersey after all, but again see: PUNK) and it apparently shows on his face because Way paddles backwards instantly.

"No! No, I didn't mean that, I just ..." He sighs. By now Frank has to admit to himself that he kind of likes this Way guy. Apparently if there's a hole to be dug, Way's the first one with a shovel.

Frank's first reaction when Way steps closer is defense before he notes the strategic placement of Way's hands which are moving toward Frank's hips. If that's supposed to be an attack, it's one Frank hasn't seen before and he's been in his share of fights and has even developed entirely new ways to attack someone (if you're stuck at the height of an average 15 year old, you need to get creative). Then he finally catches on and thinks _oh_. There's a moment when he does not quite know what to do, but then the punk wins over the cop, because Frank actually wants to know what will happen next.

Way looks at him with these intense, intense eyes and really fucking seriously and this up close Frank can smell him and those eyes are seriously going to be his undoing. Way smiles at him uncertainly and Frank can't believe that he's in this situation right now. "I ... I could make it worth your while."

The cop voice is yelling itself hoarse inside Frank's mind, but the punk is getting giddy and all _go get him!!!_ and Frank was never any good at turning down a challenge like that. What Way is proposing goes against any ethical code somebody (his mother, Church, his instructors at the academy) tried to force into him, but if Frank's honest to himself, he's agreeing to this because even Way himself does not seem all that convinced it's going to work and that sincerity is what draws Frank him.

It's almost eerie how Way seems to know Frank's decision before he himself does, because that smile turns out to be a killer. Then Way bows and closes the distance. In the first moments of that kiss Frank feels every minute, every second, that has passed since his last hook-up because it's been way, way too long, especially for this kind of hook-up (shortly before he entered the academy , he had a hot, but short fling with a guy he knew from the scene, but the first couple of months he felt like he had to prove himself and pass some secret cop tests and only dated girls).

The kiss feels all the better because Frank knows all the reasons why this is a fucking bad idea and he shouldn't, but whatever's been left of his integrity and resolve in that moment goes right out the proverbial window when Way pulls him close. It's risky, they're right out there on the street, but Way's was the first car to come through in two fucking hours and Frank's done with thinking, he's through with it, because he can either ponder what a bad cop he is or decide to fuck the establishment. He goes with the latter and throws himself into the kiss.

Way seems only a bit surprised when Frank actually starts working at the kiss, but then Frank can feel Way's smile against his lips and just like that he's off into one of the most awesome making out he's ever had. He just fits into Way's arms, who does not seem to become tired of holding Frank close. They kiss again and again. Frank cautiously bites at Way's jawbone, nibbles the skin there and is absolutely content in the moment.

So when Way kisses up to his ear and whispers "This is not what I actually had in mind", he's kind of stumped, but then Way turns them until Frank's back to the car and he drops to his knees and Frank perhaps dies right on the spot and goes to heaven (or hell, not that he exactly cares right now), because all he's got is a resounding _yes yes yes_. He leans against the car, the cold creeping through his clothes, but there's Way in front of him, laughing at him and looking like something straight out of porn.

Frank just looks at him. Way is still smiling when he makes short work of Frank's belt and his pants (not for the first time Frank wonders why being a cop involves so many clothes--probably to keep them out of situations just like this one). It's gotten cold lately, but Frank hardly notices it as Way pushes Frank's pants down. It leaves Frank exposed and the thought that someone might catch them, like this, see exactly what they're doing right there in the open proves to be a turn-on. Frank makes a mental note of this, but then Way actually touches him and his head thunks back against the car.

Way does not laugh this time, although Frank feels pretty stupid for being so open and just wanting. A second note, saying to do this more often, joins the first one. He's half-hard from only kissing and he can't decide whether that's smooth or pathetic because usually he's the one on his knees. Way starts jacking him, carefully slicking him with precome. _Definitely a pro_ races through Frank's mind, closely followed by _yeah, but which kind?_

Then Way bends down and licks a stripe along Frank's cock and that's pretty much where all coherent thought stops. For minutes afterwards Frank revels in the feel of a mouth on his cock and a warm hand jacking him. Way has callouses in all the right places, the pace is right, the rhythm is just this side of off that Frank does not go off in the course of minutes and it feels perfect. Frank lets his hands fall down and gently holds Way's head, feeling the blond, short hair brushing his fingers. He is tingling all over, as the familiar feeling builds up and takes him higher and higher. He doesn't want it to end, really, because this is good and Way also seems to be into it, which just turns on Frank more.

When Frank feels his orgasm building, he can just get himself to pull at Way's head to warn him. The smile Way gives him as he looks up at Frank tips him over the edge. Way keeps jacking him gently throughout his orgasm. When he's done, Frank has to lock his knees and lets his head fall back against his car. His breathing's fast and he feels all warm and fuzzy. He hardly notices Way cleaning him up and straightening his clothes and petting him in strange places (his side, his cheek, his arm). Way is still smiling, a lazy, sexy smile that makes Frank want to kiss him. Way leans against him while he waits for Frank to catch his breath, which, wow, takes longer than usually. Frank spares a random thought on praying that please this doesn't mean he's getting sick again.

Frank can feel Way's hard-on against his hip and wants to say something about reciprocation, just give him another minute, when Way leans down and whispers into his ear: "So, what do you say, officer? I promise I'll pay the tickets first thing tomorrow."

The warm and fuzzy feeling disappears, as Frank remembers that, yes, this was what the encounter was all about. No reciprocation needed. Something clenches in his chest, but he decides to not dwell on it. "Okay", he hears himself saying, in a faraway voice, as if he's not really here. "Okay, you can go."

Way turns to him with that smile again and it's really fucking unfair, Frank realises, because this was not what he bargained for. His knees are still weak, not entirely only from the really amazing blowjob he just received, and he curses himself. But Frank wouldn't be the little punk ass shit he so is without learning survival skills and so he puts on his best everything's fine, really face that fools everyone but his mother.

"Thank you", Way says in that earnest voice. He picks up his papers from where Frank dropped them while they made out and with a last smile at Frank he gets into his car and then ... he's gone. Frank stares after him. If his belt wasn't tied too lose and his pants were not quite in the right place and his lips weren't swollen, he would've bet that he'd just dreamt the entire thing. It takes him too long to get back to his car and go back to his observation place. So if he stares out at the road without actually taking anything he sees in, what of it?

It's just as well. Nobody else passes the street that night. When Frank goes back to the station, weary and tired and exhausted from sitting on his ass all night and certain other extracurricular activities and the complications they bring with them, his lieu just takes a look at him and says he hopes that Frank learns his lesson. Frank just nods. _Karmic payback_ , he thinks. At least he was punished, even if it wasn't quite the punishment his lieu thought it would be.

At home he can't quite get the image of white-blond hair and dark eyes out of his head. He remembers this smile and the fucking earnestness and the kisses. His body apparently hasn't gotten the message yet that fantasising about a certain Gerard Way was not good for Frank's mental health, because just like that he was ready to go again.

He holds out an entire minute before he decides to fuck it. After all, Way initiated the fucking thing, right? It only seems fair that Frank gets the most he can out of it. He's pretty sure that jerking off to the memory of some one-night-stand (ha! IF ONLY) is pretty close to pathetic, but then he gets into it, remembers Way's long fingers on his dick, the counterpointed rhythm he developed with his hand and mouth, how he kept Frank right there for minutes, and he is lost once again. It takes an embarrassingly short time for him to come again. As he lays there, his spunk drying on his skin, breathing still fast, he realises that he's in way deeper than he thought. _Pathetic loser_ , he thinks and then he resolutely pushes any thought of Way out of his mind.

Frank cleans himself and amazingly enough he falls asleep almost instantly. If he dreams about blond hair and long fingers, it absolutely has nothing to do with what he wants.


End file.
